


little soldiers in a row

by blackkat



Series: Kit Fisto drabbles [4]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Fix-It, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29287386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “What,” Fox says flatly, “isthat?”“Trouble, sir,” Thire says, which is astonishingly prescient for him.
Relationships: CC-1010 Fox & Kit Fisto, mentioned Quinlan Vos/CC-4447 | Thire
Series: Kit Fisto drabbles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941694
Comments: 65
Kudos: 799
Collections: Fun/Humour/Crack in a Galaxy Far Far Away





	little soldiers in a row

“What,” Fox says flatly, “is _that_?”

“Trouble, sir,” Thire says, which is astonishingly prescient for him. Or it’s the voice of experience, because his armor is _dented_. There are scratches on his helmet, too, and when he dumps a wriggling sack of cloth that looks suspiciously like a finely-tailored cloak into Fox’s spare chair, there are bitemarks on his glove. Bitemarks with sharp teeth, and Fox eyes them, then reaches out, using the tip of his stylus to jerk the cloth back.

With a sound of alarm, a tiny Nautolan recoils, jerking his arms up like he’s going to defend himself, and Fox _freezes_.

“ _Thire_ ,” he warns, just above a growl, and Thire twitches back, hands up.

“We found him in one of the lower levels!” he says defensively. “A senator’s aide spotted him, and when we tried to grab him, he _attacked_ us!”

“All ten kilograms of him, I'm sure,” Fox says, entirely unimpressed, and this is the _last_ thing he wants to deal with today. He groans, lifting a hand to rub at his temple, and realizes belatedly that he’s still wearing his bucket. “Get out. Sweep the area. Don’t get beaten up by any more toddlers. And check with the Nautolan delegation to see if anyone’s missing a kid.”

Thire winces. “Uh. Sir, he. When we found him, he moved things without touching them.”

Fox pauses, then raises his head, eyes narrowing. “You wrapped a _Jedi_ up in a cloak like a kriffing baby _dire-cat_?” he demands, irritation spiking, and rises to his feet, not sure if he’s going to commit violence on his commander or just shake him by the scruff. “Did you even bother to _call_ the Jedi?”

Thire winces again, which is answer enough.

Fox sighs through his nose, and the Guard might not have a Jedi of their own, but _still_. The idea of stuffing an initiate in a borrowed cloak and hauling them around like a sack of tubers is _awful_. “Out,” he says again, and means it this time. “I should have you take over for one of the maintenance droids cleaning freshers. Just because you decided to sleep with Vos and now you're awkward about it isn't an excuse to—”

“ _Sir_ ,” Thire squawks, like he expected Fox to _not know_. Fox deals with Vos more than any other member of the Guard who hasn’t played tonsil hockey with him, and the man’s subtle, but he’s not _that_ subtle.

“ _Go_ ,” Fox orders. “Comm the Order and tell them we’ve got one of theirs.”

Thire sighs, like one comm call is going to break him, but salutes and slinks out, and Fox stares after him with narrowed eyes until the door slides shut. Then, deliberately, he looks down.

Huge dark eyes stare back at him, wary and watchful.

Slowly, deliberately, trying not to startle the kid, Fox reaches up, pulling his bucket off, and knows he isn't imagining it when the Nautolan instantly relaxes a little at the sight of his face. With a crooked smile, he crouches down in front of the chair, and says, “Hey, kid. Sorry about that. You got a name?”

The tiny Nautolan looks at him for a long moment, then curls in on himself, tucking his face into his knees, and doesn’t answer.

Fox grimaces. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to talk to me, either, after that,” he agrees, and reaches out carefully. There’s no reaction when he brushes stubby tentacles, then strokes the small back, trying to offer comfort but not really sure how to. He never took nursery duty on Kamino, even though he knows most of the other commanders did. He’s kind of regretting that now. “Thire's kind of an idiot, isn't he? But it looks like you taught him a lesson, huh?”

There's a pause, a faint tilt of a head. The kid stares at him with one dark eye, and Fox tries for his best smile. “I'm Fox,” he says. “We’re going to get you back to the Temple, all right? I’ll take you there myself.” After all, Jedi younglings are _valuable_ to the right people. Even on Coruscant, they're at risk. There's a reason they don’t usually leave the Temple without a chaperone until they're older. However this initiate managed to get into the Senate Building, Fox has a bad feeling about the circumstances surrounding it.

“Back?” the kid asks, and that accent is rough, not entirely settled into Standard yet. But then, Nautolans don’t speak underwater; it’s all transmitted pheromones as language instead of something spoken out loud. If he’s a new initiate, it would make sense that he was still adjusting.

“Yeah, back to the crèche,” Fox says, and offers the kid his hand. “I'm Fox.”

The kid stares at him for a long, long moment, entirely still, like a predator. Then, quicker than Fox can even follow, he moves, lunges. A small body hits Fox in the chest, not even heavy enough to rock him, and he grabs on instinct, thinking of the dent in Thire's chestplate, what Jedi can do—

Tiny arms wrap around his neck, and the kid _clings_.

“Oh,” Fox says dumbly, and then rolls his eyes at himself, looping an arm underneath the kid and hooking the other behind his back. He rises to his feet, feeling tentacles tickle his cheek as the boy buries his face in Fox’s throat, and breathes out, rubbing his back. He’s…not great with kids. But apparently _this_ kid doesn’t know that. “Hey, you're fine, no need for that.”

Apparently undeterred, the kid shakes his head, pressing closer. “’m Kit,” he says.

Fox pauses, blinking. Kit. Like—

“Like Kit _Fisto_?” he asks, and that surge of tangled resignation and disbelief should probably be familiar at this point.

The boy lifts his head, those huge dark eyes a little brighter. “My name!” he says, full of a child’s relief, and smiles. To his horror, Fox can see it. This is—

The door crashes open, and Thire practically falls through the opening, helmet off, face pale. “Sir! Commander Fox, there _aren’t_ any initiates missing from the Temple, but—”

“A Jedi Master is,” Fox says, resigned to this. Everything to do with the Jedi is _insane_. “Kit, were there any other Jedi with you?”

Kit blinks at him solemnly, and—well. At least he’s not Vos. If Fox has to babysit a Jedi who’s miraculously turned into a child, he’ll take it as long as it isn't that Kiffar menace. “No,” he says, and Fox starts to let out a breath of relief—

“But,” Kit says brightly, and Fox’s heart takes the express lift down to his _toes_. “Zabrak! Two Zabrak!”

Two Zabraks. Not Jedi. Fox _wants_ to believe that Kit means two random Zabraks off the street, but Jedi-adjacent luck can never be that good. And given the rumors that Maul and Savage were planning to target senators…

“Karking _slag_ ,” Fox says viciously, and rounds on Thire. “Get Thorn. And Stone. Sweep the _whole building_ , and find Darth Maul and his brother.”

“Yes sir,” Thire says quickly, retreating two steps.

“They're down,” Kit says, pointing at the floor, and when Fox looks at him, he smiles. Leans back in his arms, a quick movement that almost gives Fox a _heart attack_ as he sways backwards, and adds, “By the big statue!”

Level 4, then. Fox musters up a smile for him, and says, “Thanks, Kit. Think you can help me find them if we go down there?”

Kit nods, pleased with himself. “We hid,” he says. “There was…” He pauses face screwing up, and then says, “Lod? Lord? Lord Sidis. We hit him!”

Fox stares at him, brain gone entirely blank. Swallows once, hard, and raises his head, meeting Thire's wide eyes across the room. “Lord Sidious,” he says, praying that he’s wrong.

But Kit beams. “Yeah!” he says.

Fox isn't getting paid anything for this job, but no amount of credits would make it worthwhile.

“Call Windu,” he tells Thire. “Tell him we found the Sith Lord.” And, if Kit was _hiding_ with Maul and Savage— “And tell him that Maul and Savage got turned into younglings, too.”

Thire's face says everything Fox wants to right now.

“ _Slag_ ,” Kit says solemnly, and Fox groans. Rubs a hand over his face, hitches Kit up a little higher on his hip, and heads for the door.

“I think this calls for something stronger than slag,” he tells Kit. “Try _kriffing bantha shit._ ”

“Bantha shit,” Kit repeats cheerfully, and Fox snorts, shakes his head, and tightens his grip on the fearsome Jedi Master who apparently managed to take out a Sith as a _toddler_.

“Yeah, exactly,” he says, and heads down the hall with Kit happily clinging to his neck.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [little weapons learning to dream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29364978) by [Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel)




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